dear Goddess of the night, my little secret elf
has let me know your pressie hasnt made it to your shelf
while my santa bats are slow, be happy, not alarmed
they are flapping through tsunamis, yet your pressie is unharmed
and will yet be there in but days, to fill your life with song
of beery throaty sailors, and of many a singalong
and yet another something in colours growing into form
will fly to your far shore, to light another dawn.